


Crossover fic: Walkover.  Eames/Dick Grayson (Inception/Batfamily)

by Pennyplainknits



Series: Bats and Dreamers [1]
Category: DCU - Comicverse, Inception (2010)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/pseuds/Pennyplainknits





	Crossover fic: Walkover.  Eames/Dick Grayson (Inception/Batfamily)

Eames scanned the room, looking for his subject amongst the well-dressed crowd. He'd half expected Arthur to come along with him, drawn by the art, and the canapes, and the opportunity to wear a tux and drive Eames unknowingly crazy. But, instead, Arthur had shut himself up in their tiny studio base and given Eames strict instructions to be careful.

"Didn't know you cared, darling," Eames had said lightly.

"Just watch you back, Eames," Arthur had replied.

Arthur had been oddly twitchy ever since they took the job, which wasn't much of a job, really. Eames put it down to it being the first one without Dom. Or maybe it was the location. You heard odd things about Gotham, and Arthur had been uncharacteristically nervous ever since the plane had landed. Best to do the job, such as it was, and get out of there.

"It won't work you know. You're following the wrong lead."

The voice in Eames's ear was smooth, a little amused. Eames snagged a flute of champagne before he turned and looked up slightly into the very blue eyes of the man he'd been studying all night. Forging him was going to be like forging a work of art.

"I'm afraid you have me mistaken for someone else," he said, waving the champagne flute expansively. "I'm simply enjoying the gallery opening. Marvelous collection, don't you think?"

Richard Grayson, cop, heir to the Wayne fortunes, and seriously easy on the eye, looked around at the art on the walls.

"Marvelous," he said, with a smile. "Although that doesn't explain why you've spent the entire evening studying me, rather than the paintings.

"What can I say," Eames grinned "You're a work of art too, Mr-?"

"You know my name," Grayson said with another smile that, if Eames were prone to poetry, he might call heartbreaking.

"I really don't." Eames lied.

A young man, dark hair, neat suit, jostled against him in the crowd and Eames stumbled forward. Grayson reached out to steady him.

"It's getting crowded," he said. "Would you like to get out of here?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Eames said, jumping at the change to observe how Grayson behaved in a different setting. "I'm George, by the way." He held out his hand.

"No you're not. But I'll call you that, if you like. Dick. Grayson. Which you knew."

Eames was still trying to process that, alarm bells ringing, when Grayson set off through the crowd, clearly expecting Eames to follow him. Eames took one look at his lithe frame wrapped in a suit that would make Arthur drool (or possibly come) and set off after him. Sometimes, you had to observe a mark at very close quarters indeed.

The things Eames sacrificed for his work.

It was only later, much later, that he found out someone had picked his pocket.

***

"You've got a lot of scars for a rich boy," Eames said later. The low lamp light reflected off Dick's body where he lay, tangled in the sheets.

"I was a cop," Dick said, "Comes with the territory." He stretched, languidly. but Eames knew a distraction technique when he saw one.

"Not these, they don't" Eames said, and traced his hand down the ragged scar on Dick's thigh so he'd remember the exact placement later. The muscles jumped under his touch. "This leg's been broken, stabbed, and shot at. Shattered, I should say. You got all that on the force, you'd've been invalided out. No, these are from something else. What a fascinating conundrum you are, love."

"Oh, we're going to do this, are we?" Dick said, and he sat up slightly. The sheets slipped down even lower, and Eames spared an appreciative glance at the cut of Dick's hip bones. Dick tugged him closer with calloused hands, and again, that was a little anomaly Eames hadn't expected to find. Rich boys didn't work with their hands. And then, he thought back to those stories.

"Ok then, _George_ ," Dick said "You're in great shape, but it's not from the gym, it's from hard work. Your tattoos, some of them, are from the British military, but you're not still in service, no way. And you have areas of scar tissue on both wrists that suggests continued use of IV lines. Since I don't think you've been ill recently, given your... stamina-"

Eames grinned, despite himself. Despite knowing he'd been made

"I'm going to guess something a lot less legal, and a lot more interesting. So tell me, Mr Eames. Who hired you?"

Eames tensed, ready to try and brazen it out.

"Don't lie to me," Dick said, and, despite him being naked, and still streaked in sweat and come, he was one of the scariest things Eames had ever seen. "Really, I wouldn't advise it. Tell me who the mark is. It better not be Bruce, for your sake."

Eames sighed, just about to confess-they'd find another way in, one that didn't involve moonlighting rich boys with ridiculous bodies-when then was a hammering at the door.

"Not a good time!" Dick called.

"Dick, let me in."

A male voice, seeped in priviledge, where Dick's accent was still, sometimes, uncertain to Eames's skilled ear. This voice had grown up rich. Dick had been born a long way from where he ended up.

"You going to let whoever that is in?" Eames asked, thinking to stall for time.

"If I don't, he'll pick the lock," Dick said. "You might want to put some clothes on."

"How about you?" Eames said, but he rolled off the bed, and pulled on his tux trousers. That was when he discovered his wallet was missing.

"You picked my pocket?" he said, impressed despite himself. Dick had got his wallet, but left the fobwatch totem still attached to its chain. Small mercies, Eames supposed.

"No," Dick said, sliding long legs into a pair of jeans, "But I think you're about to get it back."

There was another knock on the door

"Goddamnit Dick! Open the fucking door."

"Language little brother," Dick called back, and opened the door.

For one brief, glorious second, Eames felt like his twins fantasy had finally come to life.

Then he looked again.

No, this wasn't Arthur. Same slim, strong build, but this man was younger, barely out of his teens. Blue eyes, to Arthur's brown. Short hair, messy, not tamed to within an inch of its life. He stood like Arthur though. Like someone always poised to drop you on your arse. And his gaze was every bit as assessing.

"Dick! Seriously! You had to SLEEP WITH HIM?" The newcomer said.

"Wasn't much sleeping involved," Eames said, unable to stop himself.

"With your background I guess that's a good thing," he said. He handed over Eames's wallet.

"Good forgeries on the ID. But then, that's your line of work, isn't it Mr Eames?"

Eames was getting sick of hot blue eyed strangers knowing his real name.

"He moonlight as well?" Eames asked, turning to Dick with the wallet in his hand. "Same scars?"

"Dick," the boy began again.

"It's ok, little brother, " Dick said "I promise I didn't let him have his wicked way with me. Or, at least, not like _that_."

Eames chuckled. The boy looked less than amused. In fact, at the 'little brother' something almost like annoyance had crossed his face. Interesting.

"Show me your wrists."

"Tim-"

"Dick. Show me."

"I'll just leave you two brothers to it, shall I?" Eames said, making 'brothers' sound as filthy as possible. It was one of his many talents.

There is was again. That flicker across Tim's face. Someone had more than familial feelings for Mr Grayson. He wondered if Tim even knew.

Dick sighed, but held out both his wrists. Tim held them gently.

"No IV line marks." Tim said "Good."

"I'll be off then," Eames said, buttoning his shirt and slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

"Not so fast," Tim said, and shot out a hand to grip his elbow tightly.

He could probably lay him out, Eames thought. But then he'd have to deal with Dick too, so he just stood there.

He weighed up the pros and cons. It was a shit job anyway.

"Wayne isn't the target," he said, eventually. "It's someone at Wayne Enterprises. My- colleague's- background info indicated they had a bit of a crush on you, Dick, and so would be likely to respond favourably if you asked them about what we were hired to find out."

Tim snorted

"Everyone has a crush on him."

"Don't think I don't know about those bugs," Dick remarked, mildly, and Tim gave a guilty start. "Eames here isn't the only one keeping close tabs on me."

Eames wasn't touching that one.

"So why are you telling us this?" Tim demanded.

"It's a small job. Not very well paying. Certainly two trust fund babies like yourselves could match the price. What's it worth to you?" Eames said, and gave a grin of his own.

"Double," Dick said, just as Tim said

"What's your contiued ambidextrous ability worth to you?"

"TIM!" Dick admonished. "Hear him out."

Eames gave an experimental tug, but Tim had a grip like iron.

"Church Industries is trying to get a leg up on the new wi fi tech Wayne Innovations is trialing. They wanted us to extract it from the lead engineer. Art-that is, we- thought it was a bit of a longshot since none of our background work turned up anything not already in the public domain, but hey, a job's a job."

"Talbolt," Dick said.

"I'll call Lucius," Tim nodded.

"And anyway," Eames said, and stretched as far as Tim's grip would allow to leer at Dick, still bare chested in the middle of the room "There were some perks."

Tim gripped his elbow so tight Eames thought his nails may have broken the skin. He winced, despite himself, until Tim let go.

"So, what will you do?" Dick said "I assume you're not going to keep trying now we know?"

"We'll avoid Gotham for a bit," Eames said. "Question is, Mr Grayson, what will you do? you understand, in _our_ lines of work, secrecy is kind of paramount."

"In our lines of work? I don't know what you mean?" Dick said, but he couldn't quite pull off the innocent look.

Eames pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"You're almost as good as me. You won't tell," Eames said. He knew. He didn't know why, but his instincts were practically never wrong. Dick, Tim, had too much to lose to risk telling, and very little to gain.

"Wonderful to meet you. Tim." Eames nodded, and was halfway down the corridor when Tim called

"Say hello to Cousin Arthur for me. Tell him Grandma missed him at Thanksgiving."

Eames stopped, one arm halfway into his jacket sleeve

 _Cousin Arthur?_

END


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